Work Text:
Legolas is halfway out of his tunic when he hears the knock on his door. Though he knows Imladris is more conservative than the woods that he calls home, he leaves the drawstrings where they lie and crosses the room with his neckline parted to his naval. The green flaps fall back to expose the greater portion of his chest, and when he opens the door, that’s exactly where Lindir’s eyes go.
Legolas doesn’t mind. It’s hardly the first time he’s been ogled, and he hopes it won’t be the last. In the Woodland Realm, servants fight for the honour of undressing him, and he politely indulges them whenever he can.
In Imladris, he’s been left alone to strip down for his bath. But Lindir holds a bundle of silver fabric in his hands, and when he finally recovers, eyes snapping back to Legolas’ face, he splutters, “I... I have brought you better linens, my lord.” He awkwardly tries to bow, only to drop the blanket, and he just barely manages to catch it in time before it touches the ground. He straightens back up with wide, horrified eyes, and his cheeks wondrously red. He’s an adorable creature, so much more innocent than the elves Legolas is used to.
He opens and closes his mouth several times before he manages, “I... I have also located a bottle of Dorwinion wine from our last Woodland visitors... would you... should I have it brought up...?”
Legolas merely smiles. He can’t help himself. He knows it’s cruel to leave the poor thing floundering, but Lindir is just so very cute when he’s flustered. Lindir licks his lips nervously and averts his gaze to the floor, practically trembling as he mumbles, “I... is there anything else that you would like...? I... I would be happy to fetch anything you should wish for...”
Legolas can’t help a quiet laugh. Lindir actually winces. Legolas reaches out to clasp the poor thing’s shoulder. With a small, reassuring squeeze, Legolas murmurs, “Lindir.” Lindir flinches. Legolas twists one finger beneath his chin and gently tilts it up. “Please. You need not fawn over me simply because I am a prince. You may treat me as any other guest.”
Lindir’s mouth falls open. He insists, “N-no, my lord, that is not it! Your title has nothing to do with my amorous feelings—” He cuts himself off by darting his hand up to cover his mouth. Somehow, he’s managed to blush even deeper.
He steps back, then turns and hurriedly tries to leave, but Legolas snatches his wrist. It forces him to drop his blanket, but he seems to have forgotten it entirely. Lindir stops, nervously glancing backward.
Legolas tells him, “I think I might like that wine. ...And, if you will do me the honour, I should like your company to share it with.”
Legolas lets his hand fall away. Lindir’s fingers lower enough to show his smile, first stunned, then delighted. He tries to speak but only nods.
Legolas lets him race off, looking forward to his return.